Surrogate
by Asturiet
Summary: Sam is infected with a demon parasite, and Dean's not doing too well either.  WARNINGS: sorta-mpreg with a monster baby, sorta-abortion of said monster baby, language, some grossness, killing, etc.
1. Just a Little Grenade

Summary: Sam is infected with a demon parasite, and Dean's not doing too well either. Takes place mid-season 3, obviously before season four (so no rugaru yet) and before the finale of season 3. Spoilers could include anything up to the end of season 3. Warnings: Mpreg (sorta), language, abortion (again, sorta), some grossness, killing, etc, but if you don't like that kind of stuff, why do you watch Supernatural?

Disclaimer: Sam is not mine. Dean is not mine. Bobby is not mine. Nothing in, about, or around Supernatural is mine. It all belongs to other, far more deserving people.

Author's Note: I wrote this quite some time ago - about three and a half years ago, in fact. It has changed only very little since then, but I've been reticent to post it due to its mpreg-ward tendencies (though, really, it's not particularly mpreg-y). I finally posted it today because, well, come ON - posting a story on leap day? Classic! Since the story is finished, I will post it one chapter per day until finished (five days total). Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 1: Just a little grenade<p>

Sam was used to flying through the air. After all, he was a hunter, he went after supernatural things, all manner of ghosts, spirits, demons, and other assorted beings, and they all tended to be pretty strong. So yeah, getting tossed twenty feet and plowing into a wall really wasn't new.

It still hurt.

Sam lay face-down on the cold concrete and hoped his brother had finally managed to break the basement door open (why was it always the basement?), because it would be another few seconds before he was able to move again, let alone fight. A few shallow breaths, a quick check to make sure nothing was broken or otherwise seriously injured, and Sam was finally able to lift himself up on his hands enough to see what he'd missed.

It took a minute to focus his eyes, but it looked to Sam like his brother had, in fact, made it into the basement and was going head-to-head with the...demon. Or whatever it was, since it was definitely from hell, but it wasn't possessing a human body. It certainly wasn't susceptible to exorcisms, since that was what Sam had been doing when he'd been so unceremoniously launched.

A quick jab here, a fist to the face there - Dean seemed to be holding his own. Of course, as soon as he started to think things were looking up, the thing grabbed Dean's knife by the blade, ignoring the gashes it gave itself in favor of yanking the weapon from Dean's hand. Sam groaned as his brother's eyes went wide and startled, and he started to pick himself up from the dusty floor, only to hear Dean shout: "Sam! Down!"

Twenty years of teamwork counted for something, and Sam was flat on the floor when the blast came, followed immediately by a thick shower of something wet, warm, and thankfully unidentifiable.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked as he pushed himself up off the floor, viscous fluids of various colors dripping from him to puddle on the floor. His brother poked his head up from behind a bureau on the far side of the room, grinning like an idiot and annoyingly clean.

"Grenade," Dean said proudly as he made his way over to help his brother. Sam's jaw dropped.

"A grenade?" he asked, incredulous. "You used a GRENADE? In an ENCLOSED SPACE?"

Dean shrugged. "I shoved it into the gash in her stomach - she muffled the blast. Besides," he continued, slapping Sam's fluid-covered shoulder with a wet splat. "It was just a little grenade."

* * *

><p>Hours later, after Sam had scrubbed himself clean of multicolored demon slime, the boys shared a couple of celebratory beers.<p>

"I still can't believe you brought a grenade," Sam said, taking a swig of his beer.

"Are you kidding, Sammy?" Dean replied, a smirk twisting one side of his mouth. "I brought six grenades." He raised his beer, smiling. "Just turned out I only needed one."

"Yeah, well your one grenade could've gotten us killed."

"Could've, but didn't," Dean pointed out, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Another long pull of his beer and Sam turned his gaze to the newspaper clippings spread on the tiny table between them. "So, got any idea where we're goin' next?"

Dean shrugged. "Got a couple of animal mutilations down in Texas. Might be interesting."

"Texas it is."

* * *

><p>So much for a "couple" of animal mutilations - it was more like thirty, mostly cattle, but with plenty of dogs and cats and other household pets thrown into the mix. It took the brothers a week to round up the werewolves behind the destruction, not to mention all the domestic animals that had been turned (ever seen a steer with fangs? You don't want to). The creatures weren't hard to find, there were just so darn many of them, and almost every one was a pain in the ass. By the end of each night, Sam and Dean stumbled into their motel room, dead on their feet.<p>

They were so busy, in fact, that even after a good night's sleep, Dean was still dead tired. It didn't help that he'd caught some kind of stomach bug, and he was having trouble keeping food down. It didn't seem to be affecting the hunt, though, so Dean shrugged it off.

After five days of cleaning up the mess that had ultimately started with just one werewolf, Dean took what he considered a well-deserved reward: he slept in. Unfortunately, his brother, the bitch, insisted on getting him up at the crack of ten to go get breakfast.

"Come ON, Dean, I'm starving!" the brat had said, and he must've been, because once they'd made it to the little diner they liked, Sam plowed through more food than Dean had ever seen anyone eat in a single sitting. Ever.

And so began what Dean began to think of as "Sammy's Neverending Buffet." That day they started on their way to Arizona looking for what sounded like a traditional haunting. Dean, as always, packed the Impala full of snacks, even though he'd lost his breakfast of bacon and a couple of pancakes within minutes of eating it. Damn stomach bug. Anyway, that wasn't the weird part. The weird part was that the treasure trove of snacks was gone before they even made it out of Texas, and Sam insisted that they stop and get more. In fact, they had to stop for snacks or meals at least five times that day - Sam needed fuel more often than the car, for Christ's sake.

"Hey, we just came off one of the longest hunts of our lives," Sam whined when Dean brought it up, as they were cruising through New Mexico. "My reserves are a little low."

"Yeah, well, you keep goin' like this and you're not gonna fit in the car," Dean grumbled mildly, glancing over in time to catch his brother's rolled eyes.

"It won't keep going on like this," Sam replied. "Trust me, a day or two and everything will be normal again."

It wasn't.

Over the next few days, it seemed like every time Dean looked at Sam, he was eating. Jerky, fries, chips, even fruit, nothing seemed to satisfy the boy. At meals Sam snarfed down three or four entrees, and he never passed up dessert. They rolled into a little no-name town in Arizona with Sammy munching on an italian sub, and they rolled out three days later with him sucking down a double cheeseburger.

The haunting did turn out to be pretty traditional, but it was anything but straightforward. The little town with no name was insular to a fault, and no one would talk to Sam OR Dean, no matter how many sad puppy dog faces or incredibly sexy smiles they pulled out. They did eventually manage to find someone who would talk to them, but even then it took forever to find the one bit of remains (a finger bone) that had been plastered over when the old house in question was renovated.

All in all, they were at the No-Name Motel for three days, and during those days Dean mostly avoided food, as his stomach was still rebelling on him, and Sammy ate everything in sight.

It was a long last night in little no-name. The ghost had finally been taken care of, but after three days of research, dead ends, and digging through perfectly plastered walls, Dean was exhausted. The fact that he was nursing a glass of water rather than beer wasn't helping his mood, and neither was the fact that he was still covered in plaster and dirt - Sam had won first dibs on the shower. So it was possible that he was a little harsh when his brother came out of the steamy bathroom looking for some clothes, holding a towel wrapped around his hips.

"Lookin' a little soft there, Sammy-boy," Dean drawled, eyeing his brother over the top of his glass. His brother's normally flat stomach had bowed outward, forming a shallow half-sphere over the edge of the towel. "Can't let yourself go in this life or you won't be in this life anymore." Sam glared at his brother but didn't look down.

"I'm fine, Dean," he snapped, and Dean blinked in surprise at the sharpness of his brother's tone. "Leave it alone."

He almost did - Sam was clearly annoyed, but...for a hunter, ten extra pounds could mean the difference between outrunning the thing chasing you and...not.

"I told you all the stuff you've been plowin' through would come back to haunt you, I mean-"

"Dean!" Sam barked, eyes flashing. "Drop it!"

For a long moment, Dean just watched his brother, then he nodded and, setting his glass on the table, disappeared into the bathroom and started his own shower.

Plaster and assorted other types of dirt sifted down from his skin and hair as Dean stripped, but he barely noticed - his mind was on his brother. In fact, he was so occupied that it wasn't until he was finished cleaning off the last of the grime that he noticed that the world was moving in an unsettling way. Only a quick grab for the handicapped bar in the shower kept Dean from ending up on his ass in the tub.

Hoping Sam hadn't heard his near miss, Dean turned off the water and carefully climbed out of the tub, grabbing hold of the sink for support. After a few long moments of standing there, leaning on the sink with his eyes closed tight, the world seemed to steady again.

_What was that?_ Dean thought to himself as he wiped the fog off the mirror. The face looking back at him seemed like the same handsome devil he'd always seen, at least at first. But as he dried off his hair and brushed his teeth, every time he caught his reflection he looked paler, more gaunt. By the time he was ready for bed Dean was not only avoiding the mirror, he was trying not to look down at himself as well. He was obviously so tired he was seeing things, and the skinny, almost fragile version of his body that his exhausted brain had cooked up was freaking him out.

He'd figured Sam would be, if not asleep, then at least pretending to be by the time he finished in the bathroom, and he was right. Dean watched the lump of sheets that was his brother for a long moment, then he shivered – it was colder than he'd thought in the room. Worried about Sam and unnerved by what he'd been seeing in the bathroom, Dean grabbed some clean clothes and climbed into bed, knowing that sleep would be a long time coming.


	2. The Neverending Buffet

Chapter 2: The Neverending Buffet

The next morning saw them back on the road, heading for a possible vampire nest in California…after an enormous breakfast at the local diner. Sam knew he was eating too much - it was obvious - but there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it. He was just so hungry, the emptiness gnawing at him when he wasn't actively eating something. Anything.

So he plowed through everything he could order at the diner, and he glared frequently at his brother to stop him from commenting. For once, Dean actually paid attention to his brother's warning expressions and, though there were a few pointed glances at overloaded plates, he didn't say anything.

He didn't eat anything, either. The two brothers had been pretty busy over the past few days, but that hadn't stopped Sam from noticing that whatever bug had been bothering Dean was lingering, and the days of barely eating and sticking to water were starting to take their toll. Dean looked horrible - greyish and thin, neither of which were good looks for his brother.

Unfortunately, Sam knew that the second he said anything, Dean would start pointing out Sam's overeating again, and he really didn't feel like having that conversation. Not just yet.

The car groaned and settled when he slid into the passenger seat, and Sam could feel his brother's gaze on him, another look that he ignored. Sam pulled the seatbelt out as far as he could before fastening it, not used to dealing with the extra length needed to span the round bulge of his gut.

The first twenty or thirty miles to California both brothers were silent, lost in their thoughts. Dean didn't even bother with music, which was fine with Sam - he was trying to think, not critique his brother's outdated collection. Unfortunately, the twisting of his stomach kept interrupting his train of thought, and, though he was doing everything he could to keep from eating, before they'd gone fifty miles he'd ripped open a large bag of pretzels.

A hundred miles and six bags of chips later Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother and Sam sighed.

"I know, I know, this is getting ridiculous," Sam said, and Dean snorted.

"So stop doing it."

"I can't, Dean," Sam snapped, frustrated. "I've tried to stop eating, but I can't. It's like there's something inside of me, sucking me dry from the inside out, and even if I eat all the time I'm only barely keeping up with it."

Sam didn't catch the pointed look Dean tossed in his direction, but he sure as hell noticed when the car dove into a motel parking lot. Dean parked near the office and removed his seat belt, but he didn't leave the car – a sure sign of an impending brotherly lecture. Sam sighed inwardly - he wasn't looking forward to this talk.

"What's up, Dean? We're not even to California yet."

"No, and we're not going."

"What?" Sam said, not bothering to remove his own seat belt. He'd just have to put it back on once he'd convinced his brother they needed to clean out that nest.

However, he hadn't expected his brother to be reasonable.

"Look, Sam," Dean started. "You are in no shape to hunt right now." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean held up a hand. "No. You aren't, and you know it. Besides, think about what you just said." Sam waited, but his brother didn't seem to feel the need to enlighten him, so Sam thought back over the last few minutes.

_It's like something's sucking me dry from the inside out._

"Oh."

"Yeah," Dean said, his worried gaze sweeping over his brother once before he got out of the car. "If that's not some sort of weird mumbo jumbo then I don't know what is. Now, get your stuff and we'll go figure out what's going on."

* * *

><p>Two days. Two days they spent cooped up in that motel room, looking up every possible kind of life sucking, energy sucking, or soul sucking demon they could find. They looked for demons that made you fat, demons that made you hungry, and demons that did nasty things to you from afar. Then, when they ran out of ideas for demons, they started looking at other supernatural stuff, starting at the beginning of the alphabet and going all the way through. The only thing they could come up with was the Trickster, but while he probably would've found this hilarious, it wasn't quite his style.<p>

And all that time Sam ate everything he could find. Every few hours Dean dragged himself out of the motel to find more food, laying it out like a sacrifice to a heathen god. He didn't bother getting anything in particular - Sam certainly didn't notice what he was eating. Heck, Dean purposely grabbed a few things his brother hated (prunes, anyone?), but the kid didn't even notice, he just went through them like everything else. It was almost funny, or it would've been, if Sam's stomach hadn't looked like he'd swallowed a bowling ball.

Late in the afternoon of their second day in the motel, Sam tossed his pen down on the table and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face. Dean prudently decided to give his brother a break and not mention how that position pushed his ever expanding stomach outward, making it look even bigger.

"I give up," Sam mumbled through his hands before dropping them tiredly. "We've been through every possible legend, every demon anyone's ever heard of, and a few things that are only recorded as hearsay. Nothing fits."

"You can say that again," Dean said, wincing when his brother glared at him. Sam wasn't the only one who was tired – all those trips to find food had worn Dean out, and he was having problems controlling his mouth.

Clearing his throat, Dean tried to get back to the problem at hand, before Sam's glare burned his eyes out. "You're sure no one cast a spell on you?" he asked, hopeful.

Sam sighed. "Not that I remember, Dean, but it could've been cast from anywhere." He paused, his eyes losing focus for a moment, then he abruptly came back, shaking his head. "Besides, we've been through every spell we could find, and nothing would do this."

Dean tilted his head to one side. "True, but we don't have access to even half the spells a witch would."

"And I can't even remember the last time we dealt with a witch, can you?" Sam watched his brother while Dean sorted through his memories of the last few hunts, then nodded when Dean obviously came up with nothing.

Watching his brother slumped miserably at the table Dean took a breath and made the suggestion that almost got his head ripped off a day ago.

"How about we call Bobby?"

Sam's glare was immediate, his reaction so fast it was almost instinctive.

"NO," he snapped, eyes flashing. "This is bad enough without parading it around in front of other hunters."

"Sam, Bobby's not just another hunter, and you know it. And it's not like we have a lot of options right now."

"Look, I said no, alright?" And Sam started struggling to get out of the chair he was in. Dean watched, one eyebrow quirked, as his brother arched his back, set his feet wide apart, and pushed with his hands, one each on the back of the chair and the table, so that his stomach shoved forward and upward and pulled the rest of his body up. It was something of a production, and, even under the current circumstances, Dean couldn't help but find it amusing.

Unfortunately, Sam knew exactly how funny he looked, and, judging by the glare, he didn't appreciate Dean watching him. Dean was pretty sure it wasn't his fault his brother couldn't take a joke, but that didn't stop Sam from stalking (or waddling, but Dean wasn't about to mention that) towards him with murder in his eyes. Dean was just putting his hands up in the most placating gesture he knew when his brother froze, his eyes somehow both losing focus and widening at the same time. Slowly, Sam's head tilted down until he was looking at his bulging stomach, one hand hesitantly inching forward to rest awkwardly on the side.

"Sam?" Dean said after a few minutes. Sam didn't move, so Dean took a step forward and tried again. "Sam?"

"Call Bobby," Sam mumbled, and Dean relaxed - Sam was still in there, and he'd finally come to his senses.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean soothed. He started to take another step towards his brother, wanting to get him sitting down since he seemed to be in some kind of shock, but Sam's head yanked up, and Dean froze at the look of utter horror on his brother's face.

"What?" he asked, instantly on alert. "What's wrong?"

Sam spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes wide and frightened.

"Something's moving in there."


	3. Surrogate

Chapter 3: Surrogate

Bobby was skimming through a book of protection symbols when the phone rang.

"Yeah?" he answered absently, his mind still half on the book.

"Bobby, it's Dean." Bobby's head shot up, his mind immediately focused on the voice on the other end of the line.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"What? Nothing!"

Bobby snorted. "You did something, or you wouldn't be callin' me."

"We've got a problem."

Bobby sighed, rolling his eyes. "Of course you do."

"Sam's kind of…inhabited."

"He's possessed again? I thought you two had those protection tattoos."

"No, he's not possessed. We're not sure what he is, but..."

"Spit it out, boy," he growled. He didn't have time for this.

"It looks like he's pregnant, maybe some kind of demon parasite, I don't know."

There was a long pause as Bobby digested that information and Dean waited for Bobby to digest.

"How long 'til you're here?"

"It'll be a few days - we're way the hell and gone in Arizona."

"Well get your asses here pronto. I'll see if I can figure out what the hell's going on." Hanging up the phone, Bobby shook his head. Those boys – they got into more trouble between the two of 'em than every other hunter Bobby'd known combined. Sighing again, the hunter closed his book and went began the laborious process of research.

* * *

><p>The boys finally arrived a day and a half later, the Impala kicking up a cloud of dust as it pulled up to the house. Bobby watched from the porch, a cold beer in one hand, waiting for the boys to come to him.<p>

He didn't have to wait long. By the time the dust had cleared, the driver's door opened and Dean pulled himself out of the car, clearly annoyed as he slammed the door behind him. Bobby nearly laughed at the trudge that carried the hunter around the front of the car to the passenger's door, but any humor died when Sam opened the door and started to get out before Dean got there.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean bellowed, scrambling the last few feet to the door. "I was coming!"

"I'm a big boy, Dean, I can get out of a car by myself," Sam snapped, shoving Dean back with one hand. Bobby watched, wide-eyed, as that little push sent Dean stumbling backward before he caught himself on the doorframe and glared down at his brother, still seated in the car.

"Uh huh. I'd like to see that," Dean said. He sounded more than a little doubtful, but he stood back from the car, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting.

Bobby could feel the glare Sam shot his brother from all the way on the porch, but the younger hunter didn't say a word. He simply slid both feet out onto the ground and, still glaring, placed one hand on the door and the other on the car and pushed.

Unfortunately, though he moved in the general direction of standing, Sam didn't actually make it to upright, and within seconds he was right back where he started: firmly planted in the passenger seat.

_Great, here it comes,_ Bobby thought, bracing himself for Dean's riotous laughter and the punch Sam would surely throw in response, but Dean only sighed and reached an arm out towards his brother. After another scathing glare Sam gritted his teeth and took hold of his brother's arm. With a bit of maneuvering, they soon had Sam up on his feet and out of the car, making the reason behind Sam's difficulty obvious.

Sam was HUGE.

Bobby felt his own eyes widen and his jaw drop as he took in the spectacle that was walking, or, rather, waddling, towards him. Sure, Dean had explained what was going on, but there was a big difference between hearing about yet another jam the boys had gotten themselves into and seeing Sam looking like he'd swallowed a watermelon. Or a pumpkin. Something big, anyways.

Luckily Sam wasn't moving very quickly (Bobby doubted that he was able move quickly), and Dean was carefully just keeping pace with his brother, giving Bobby time to edit the first comments that came to his mind. Somehow he didn't think that "what's in there, a pony?" or "those are some strong tires" were constructive in the slightest.

"What the hell happened?" wasn't much better, but it was the best he had.

Dean quirked up a humorless half-smile as Sam started negotiating the few steps up to the porch.

"Turns out demon pregnancies go a bit faster than human."

"Just a bit," Bobby agreed, holding the door open for Sam. He was staring, he knew he was, and he was trying to pull his wide eyes away from Sam's stomach, but it just didn't seem to be possible.

"I think it generates its own gravity," Sam said as he passed Bobby, and the older man glanced up at the hazel eyes in surprise. "Don't look so confused, Bobby," Sam went on. "I can't exactly pretend it's not there." He sighed once and put a hand to the small of his back as he waddled into the house. "Though I'd really like to work on getting rid of it."

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean said, trailing him up the porch steps. "We'll get you all fixed up in no time."

Bobby shot a worried glance at Dean and started to follow Sam, but he froze, doing a double-take as he realized just what he'd seen.

"Crap, boy," he said, looking Dean up and down. "What happened to YOU?"

Dean looked like something that had been dragged through hell - twice. He was pale - way too pale, and gaunt. He'd lost a lot of weight – at least thirty pounds, probably more, and his clothes (and he was wearing three or four layers, despite the warm spring weather) hung from him, now a few sizes too big. The green eyes were shadowed and sunken and ringed with dark, bruised-looking skin. Even Dean's lips were cracked, the rawness stark against his grey-tinged skin.

"I'm fine, Bobby," Dean said, moving past the older man and into the house. Bobby followed, slipping past the boy just inside the front door and stopping him in his tracks.

"Don't give me that crap, boy, you are NOT fine. When was the last time you slept? Hell," he continued, sweeping his eyes up and down Dean's skinny frame again. "When was the last time you ATE?"

"We had lunch about an hour ago," the answer came from behind Bobby, and he turned to see Sam in the entry to the living room, tearing at a piece of jerky. "But I doubt he kept much of it down."

"I'm FINE," Dean snapped, glaring at his brother.

"Now that's just a lie," Bobby cut in, shooting a glance at Sam to keep him quiet. "You look worse than your brother."

"How is that even possible?" Dean said, ignoring his brother's glare. "He looks like he's going to explode."

"And you look like you'll fall over in a strong breeze," Bobby countered, his eyes flashing. "Now, the two of you, sit your asses down on the couch before I toss you both out in the dirt."

* * *

><p>"So I got a couple of ideas, but I need to know more before I can figure out which of these things got Sam knocked up."<p>

Sam's eyes narrowed from where he was beached on the couch. "Thanks, Bobby," he grumbled.

"He's just tellin' it like it is, Sammy boy," Dean said before turning to Bobby. "But like I said, we don't know what happened. He started eating a lot, and..." Dean gestured helplessly at his brother's stomach, ignoring Sam's rolled eyes.

"Well I'm gonna need more than that, Dean," Bobby said. "Like when did it start? When did you notice the belly? What were you doing at the time? What were your last few hunts? Come on, boys, give me somethin'!"

Sam's brow furrowed as he thought. "Well, I think this started about a week ago, but we had just finished a really bad werewolf hunt. It took forever, and we were both exhausted - I might've just been hungry from that."

Dean glanced at his brother, brows raised. "Sam, you've been eating nonstop, not just a lot. This was never normal."

"And yet we've only known it was supernatural for the past three days," Sam countered.

"Okay, okay," Bobby cut in before Dean could reply. "This is something, at least. Are you sure it's only been the past week?"

Sam nodded. "As far as I can tell."

"Anything else unusual?"

Dean blinked, his eyes wide with surprise. "You mean like my brother being pregnant?"

"About that," Bobby cut in again, seeing Sam about to snap at his brother. "Why do you think he's pregnant? It could just be fat." Sam glared at him, but Bobby just shrugged. "Sorry, boy, but it's possible."

"He said something moved in there," Dean replied, watching Bobby's eyes widen.

"Oookaaaaaay," Bobby finally drawled, once he'd swallowed the worst of his shock. "So, what hunts have you been on?"

"After that werewolf mess? Not much," Sam said. "There was a haunting, but it was pretty run-of-the mill, and after that we started researching this."

"And you're sure there wasn't anything odd about either of those hunts? The werewolf hunt, in particular?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then shook their heads.

"No," Sam said. "Not that we noticed."

"What about the hunt before the werewolves?" Bobby asked, and Sam squinted.

"That was...two weeks ago. It was some kind of demon," Sam said.

"Some kind?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. It was a demon, but it wasn't in a person, it just looked like a human itself." Sam shrugged, and Bobby nearly strangled him.

"So let me get this straight: you tangled with a kind of demon you'd never seen before, and you didn't think to mention it?"

Dean shrugged. "It's been weeks, man."

"Just tell me what happened on this...Some-Kind-of-Demon hunt," Bobby grumbled.

"Not much to tell," Dean replied. "It was some kind of demon. We killed it."

"How, exactly," Bobby growled, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Getting information out of these boys was like pulling teeth.

"Dean shoved a grenade in its stomach and blew it up," Sam said, glaring at his brother. "I ended up covered in various kinds of demon glop." Suddenly Sam's eyes widened. "You don't think..."

"I do think," Bobby replied, grabbing a book from next to the sofa. "But at least now we know what we're dealing with." Opening the dusty volume, he turned to a marked page and held the book out to the boys. "A Surrogate."

"Never heard of it," Dean said as he took the book and held it between Sam and himself.

"I'm not surprised," Bobby said. "They're extremely rare. Only a couple in the world, and they only come out to play once a century or so."

"So what are they?" Dean asked, giving up on reading the book's cramped script.

"Well, they're not demons. They're probably more closely related to vampires, though it's not somethin' you can catch."

"So how do they do…" Dean gestured again. "That?"

Bobby sighed. "Well, like I said, they're pretty rare, so there isn't a lot of intel on 'em, but it looks like they've got some kind of special organ full of some kind of spawning fluid. Normally, one of 'em spits some of the fluid onto a human host, and nineteen days later, the baby Surrogate eats its way out."

"Well THAT'S not good," Dean mumbled even as Sam yanked his gaze up from the book.

"Nineteen days?" he asked, eyes wide.

Bobby nodded. "That's one of the few things I'm sure of - the couple of sources I have agree on that one."

"But Bobby, we killed that thing two weeks ago," Sam said.

"So we've only got five days left," Dean murmured, then he forced a bright smile onto his shadowed face, slapping Sam's shoulder. "Well that's not a problem - we've got all the time in the world!"

Sam glared at his brother. "I've got some kind of supernatural spawn in me which is not only getting so big I can't walk but is going to eat its way out of me in less than a week," he growled. "I don't want to hear about 'all the time in the world.'"

Dean shrugged. "Suit yourself. So, Bobby – it say somewhere how you get rid of this thing?"

"Yup – there's a banishment ritual. And even better, I think I've got all the ingredients here."

"Talk about luck, eh Sam?" Dean said, before pushing himself off the couch. "Let's get banishing!"

"Wait a second, Dean," Sam said, holding up a hand. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Dean asked, confused.

"You look terrible, Dean," Sam said, and Dean rolled his eyes. "You do. There's obviously something wrong with you."

"No, there isn't, and even if there were, it could wait until AFTER we got rid of the thing inside of you."

Sam considered for a moment, then glanced at Bobby, who shrugged.

"He's got a point," Bobby said, and Sam nodded.

"Fine. But once we've finished the ritual, we're going to sit down and figure out what's wrong with you," Sam said firmly, growling as Dean rolled his eyes and trudged towards the kitchen.

"I mean it, Dean," Sam called after his brother.


	4. Banishment

Chapter 4: Banishment

"So why's it called a Surrogate?" Dean asked two hours later as he sat at the dining room table, pounding dried peppermint with a mortar and pestle. "Isn't Sam the surrogate?"

"Don't look at me," Bobby said over his shoulder. "I didn't name the thing." Shrugging, he went back to poking at the fire, making sure the sacred river stones were well distributed. When he was satisfied they were all heating properly, he turned to where Sam was going over the ritual once more.

"We got everything?" he asked, and Sam nodded.

"Looks good. Once the rest of the herbs are crushed and the stones are red-hot, we should be ready to go."

"Then here," Dean said, pushing himself up from the table and grabbing a second mortar and pestle. "You can crush the saffron."

Bobby shook his head. "I have never heard of a weirder ritual. Herbs I get, almost every ritual uses herbs of some kind, but not usually the kinds of herbs that go in food."

Dean shrugged, holding the mortar and pestle out towards his brother. "I don't pick 'em, I just mash 'em."

An hour later everything was pounded and mixed and ready to go. With some difficulty, Dean and Bobby helped Sam lever himself up off the sofa and waddle slowly towards the center of the mirrored ritual circles they'd drawn on ceiling and floor. Sam groaned as they lowered him into the floor circle.

"Man, I wish I didn't have to sit on the floor," he said, and Dean smirked.

"Gettin' soft there, Sammy boy," he said, grinning at the glare his brother tossed him.

"You try being seven months pregnant with some kind of creature's baby and THEN tell me how much fun it is to sit on the floor."

Once they'd gotten Sam settled, Dean and Bobby placed herb mixtures in brass chalices at fourteen points around the circle, then Bobby grabbed the fireplace tongs and put a single hot river rock in each of the herb mixtures. The herbs began to smoke instantly, perfuming the air with such a mixture of smells that it was impossible to separate out any one herb.

"Can we get this started?" Dean croaked. He rubbed his eyes, then sneezed. "All this crap is giving me a headache."

"Now who's going soft?" Sam said, snickering, but his brother ignored him and grabbed the book off the sofa.

"This the incant?" Dean asked, and Bobby nodded. Dean blinked at the page for a long moment, then shook his head and held out the book to Bobby. "I don't know how you can read this stuff. I sure as hell can't."

Bobby snorted. "Neither can I – it's a phonetic transcription of a dead language. We'll just have to muddle through as best we can." But he took the book and, as Dean lowered himself onto the sofa with a sigh, Bobby started to read.

"Mealak misutsu marami

Alemi aklanige asnala

Kama kamameta katsetse..."

Dean watched through watery eyes as the smoking herb mixtures began to flare up, one at a time, around the circle. Sam seemed to be fine, sitting mostly relaxed in the center, until the very end.

When the last smoking chalice flared, Sam groaned, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth gritted in pain. Dean sat bolt upright, watching his brother as he curled around his stomach, but there wasn't anything he could do - if he stopped the ritual now, they'd just have to start over, and it would probably hurt just as much the second time around.

So Dean watched as Sam clutched his stomach and groaned, while Bobby kept reading the incantation. Suddenly Bobby shouted "Gamala mi aleyak!" and the flaming herbs sent out one last flash before dying down.

In the sudden darkness of the warm, smoke-filled room, Dean couldn't see anything. He could hear, though, and it sounded like his little brother was losing his lunch.

"Sam?" he called. "Sam, you okay?" The only response was more retching and the wet splats that accompanied it. "Sam?"

Slowly the smoke cleared, and Dean could just make out his brother, still crouched in the center of the circle. Aside from the vomiting, which hadn't let up, he seemed to be okay. Of course, that didn't stop Dean from crawling off the sofa and down to the edge of the circle.

"Sam?" he asked again, and this time he was rewarded with a wan smile, barely seen in the shadowed room.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm okay. I'm just getting rid of this thing." Sam's stomach spasmed again, and Dean could finally see that his brother was coughing up some kind of thick, dark fluid.

"That's not blood, is it?" he asked, worried, but his brother shook his head.

"Nope. Liquified monster baby."

Dean swallowed heavily, backing slowly away from the pile of gunk in front of his brother. "I did not need to know that."

Bobby snorted from the far side of the room, where he was opening a window to air the place out. "You asked."

"Okay," Sam groaned, rolling over onto his back, away from the puddle of demon baby. "I think I'm done." He rubbed his aching stomach which, while still round, was decidedly smaller. "Let's never do that again."

"Hell no," Dean said, reaching a hand down into the circle to pull his brother to his feet. Sam grabbed the hand, then paused, nearly pulling Dean off his feet. Dean was about to snap at his brother when he saw the weird look on Sam's face.

"Sam?" he said, a cold lump forming in his stomach. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Slowly Sam turned a horrified gaze to his brother.

"There's still something in here."

* * *

><p>"TWINS? These things can have TWINS?" Dean was ranting, pacing back and forth in the still-smoky room.<p>

"Apparently," Bobby said. "But the ritual only works on one kid at a time." He shrugged. "I guess we have to do it again."

Sam, for his part, was taking the news remarkably well. Dean had finally gotten him to the sofa, and he sat there, rubbing his still-distended stomach as he watched his brother rant. That didn't, however, mean he wasn't listening.

"Do we have enough supplies to run the ritual again?" Sam asked Bobby.

The older man considered for a moment, then nodded. "Probably. We should be okay for another run, but we can't screw it up - we definitely don't have enough for a third time."

Dean snorted. "Let's hope it was only twins in there, not triplets, or we're screwed."

A horrified look flashed across Bobby's face, not to mention Sam's, but neither wanted to comment on that awful thought. Instead, Bobby grabbed up the mortars and pestles and handed a set to each of the boys.

"Here," he said. "You two start crushing herbs again. I'll clean up the circle and start the stones heating."

* * *

><p>The second ritual was much like the first, except that the room was still hot and smoky from the last ritual, so while he was, for the first time in days, warm, Dean spent the whole thing sneezing. Luckily, that didn't seem to affect anything, since within a few minutes Bobby was done with the incant and Sam was once again crouched in the center of the circle, yakking up demon baby. This time, when Sam climbed to his feet and walked out of the circle, his stomach, though still a little rounded, was clearly much smaller than it had started out.<p>

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, reaching for his brother's shoulder. "That stuff looks terrible."

"It tastes worse," Sam grumbled, but then he paused, his attention focused internally.

"Aw Christ," Bobby groaned, seeing Sam's distracted look. "Don't tell me there's another one."

Suddenly Sam shook his head, blinking. "What? Oh, no Bobby, we're good." He grinned at the two men, his eyes shining. "I just realized that, for the first time in two weeks, I'm not hungry."

* * *

><p>They slept well that night, safe and accomplished – two monster parasite babies down, and no losses on their side. The next morning saw Sam and Bobby in the kitchen, having a leisurely breakfast of toast and eggs. Sam was perfectly content with his plate of food, relishing the fact that he didn't need six more.<p>

When they were done, Sam and Bobby sipped their coffee in companionable silence.

"So," Bobby finally said. "What was it like?"

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Being pregnant with creature spawn?"

"Um hm."

Sam thought about it for a second, then shrugged. "It didn't feel weird at all, actually. I mean, I was huge, I could barely move, and I was hungry all the time, not to mention the fact that there was something doing cartwheels in my stomach..." He paused, considering what he'd said. "Come to think about it, that sounds perfectly normal. For a pregnant woman, that is."

Bobby nodded slowly, taking another long drag of his coffee before changing the subject. "Where's your brother, anyway?" he asked, and Sam shrugged again.

"Probably still asleep," Sam said. "Considering how run-down he's been lately, I didn't want to wake him if I didn't have to. We can figure out what's going on when he wakes up."

"Sure, sure," Bobby agreed. "You have any idea what might've happened? Do you think it's something to hunt or something medical?"

"I'm not sure," Sam said, his gaze falling to his cup. "I'm not even quite sure how long it's been going on. All I do know is that he's been vomiting a lot, and he's been tired. Worn-out looking. And I know he's lost weight."

"You can say that again. He looked like a pile of sticks when you two turned up," Bobby said.

"Thanks a lot," a gravelly voice said from the direction of the staircase. "Nice to know you think so highly of me."

Sam turned to watch his brother trudge into the kitchen, taking note of the grey pallor and the loose layers of clothing. "Yeah well," he said. "You do look like shit."

Dean grumbled something incomprehensible and made his way to the coffee maker to pour himself a cup of black gold. He stared at the pan of eggs for a moment, considering, then shook his head and snagged a piece of toast before sitting at the table with the other two hunters.

"Toast?" Bobby asked incredulously. "You're eating toast?"

"Nothin' wrong with toast," Dean replied, nibbling on one corner of the crispy bread. "Everyone loves toast."

Except apparently not everyone loved toast, because within seconds Dean had turned green and was sprinting for the nearest bathroom. Bobby shot Sam a look over the table, his eyes wide.

"That's not normal," Bobby said. "Something is definitely wrong."

"I didn't think he was THAT bad," Sam replied worriedly, pushing back his chair so he could go help his brother. Bobby stayed behind to start clearing the table, but Sam's shouted "Dean!" made him drop what he was doing and hurry after the brothers.

He found them on the floor in the bathroom, Sam kneeling next to his brother and calling his name. Dean appeared to be out cold, and he wasn't rousing, not even when Sam slapped his face a couple of times.

"Call 911," Sam ordered without glancing behind him, but Bobby shook his head.

"We should check him for wounds first, and weird marks. It could be that we'd be more help than a doctor."

Sam clearly didn't want to take the time, but he finally nodded. The brothers had long ago discovered it was easier to avoid some questions than to answer them, and, while Dean was unconscious, he was still breathing easily, and his pulse was steady.

"Let's get him to the couch," Bobby suggested, and Sam nodded. Bobby positioned himself at Dean's feet, and Sam maneuvered for a better position under his shoulders. After a count of three, they heaved...and nearly overbalanced when their load proved to be much lighter than they'd expected.

"Shit," Bobby swore under his breath. "I knew he'd lost weight, but this is ridiculous." After a moment of juggling, they shifted Dean into Sam's arms, where Sam cradled his brother easily, the older man being far too light for comfort. Bobby led the way to the sofa, shoving pillows off onto the floor, and Sam laid him gently down.

Running his hands through his brother's hair, Sam checked Dean for head injuries. "Nope," he said after a moment. "Everything seems fine there. We're gonna have to take off his clothes." Knowing Dean would kill them if they cut through his shirts, Sam took the time to strip him without scissors while Bobby started on his boots.

Once four layers of fabric were gone, however, Sam gasped. Dean had always been the stocky one, the muscled one, the one built like a brick wall, but at the moment his brother looked more like a skeleton with skin. Every one of Dean's ribs was clearly delineated, as were his collar bones, and his skin was pale enough as to be somewhat translucent. Where once there had been hard swells of muscle, now Sam could see a knobbly breastbone and, quivering between some of the left-hand ribs, the rhythmic pulsing of his brother's heart.

"My God, Dean," Sam mumbled. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" Sam was afraid to touch his brother, afraid he'd break something, though he knew he'd have to move him to check for wounds or other marks.

Sam had just about brought himself to turn Dean over when Bobby interrupted his train of thought.

"I think we've found the problem," Bobby said, and Sam started, then turned to where Bobby was pointing.

"What is THAT?" Sam breathed, and Bobby snorted.

"You'd think you'd have figured that out over the past few days."

Below Dean's wasted chest, his stomach swelled outward into a small, but very obviously pregnant, belly.


	5. Plan B

Chapter 5: Plan B

Dean woke slowly, the world intruding on the safe, comforting blackness. The world was cold, the world was tiring, and the world really wasn't what Dean wanted to deal with right now.

Too damn bad, apparently.

Eventually the cold got to him, and Dean gave up and just opened his eyes. The world clearly wasn't going to go away, and he had nothing better to do. He was somewhat surprised to find that the first thing he saw was his brother's face, watching him worriedly...and way too closely.

"Whoa," he croaked. "What's with the close-up, Sammy-boy?" Dean licked his cracked lips, but it didn't do much - his mouth and throat were much too dry for comfort. And man did that taste foul - he'd obviously been throwing up. Again.

But his brother backed off a bit, sitting back in a chair he'd pulled up to...what was Dean doing on the couch? Hadn't he gone to sleep in a bed?

"I carried you here after you passed out in the bathroom," Sam said, obviously using his freaky psychic powers to read Dean's mind.

"After I what?" Dean said, staring at his brother. "I passed out? Why?"

"I think you know why, Dean," Sam replied, gesturing at something with his chin. Dean followed his gaze...and nearly passed out again from shock. He'd been pretty busy the last few days, but he was sure he hadn't looked anorexic the last time he'd looked. Then Dean caught himself for a moment - when WAS the last time he'd looked at himself? He counted the days, and came up with the disturbing number of seven. And even then, he vaguely remembered that he hadn't looked quite himself.

_But this_, Dean thought, turning his attention back to his skeletal chest. _This is ridiculous_. He lifted an arm to see how bad it was and was disturbed to find that even moving his limbs took a great deal of effort. Probably because there was almost no muscle on it, his arm matching his wasted chest perfectly.

Letting him arm fall back to the sofa, Dean swept his gaze over his chest again...and stopped dead when his gaze caught on something that shouldn't be there.

"What the hell is that?" Dean snapped, fear chilling his stomach.

"You know what it is, Dean," Sam replied, sighing. "You can feel it moving."

And he really wished Sam hadn't said that, because now he could. He could feel the roiling motion inside him, the twisting and turning and poking and kicking of something alive where nothing alive should be.

"Get it out," Dean hissed, trying to squirm away from the abomination in front of him. Unfortunately, no matter how many times he inched himself away from it, it followed him.

"Dean, it's attached to you," Sam said, rolling his eyes at his brother as he placed a hand on Dean's chest to keep him still. "You can't get away from it."

"Then get it OUT," Dean snapped.

"Yeah," Sam started, and the hesitant tone made Dean grimace. This wasn't going to be good news. "About that..."

"What now?"

"See, we used up all the supplies for the ritual getting the two parasites out of me," Sam explained.

"So get more," Dean hissed.

"We can't, Dean," Sam said softly. "Some of those ingredients will take weeks to get here, some of them only a few days, but even that's too long."

"What do you mean, a few days is too long?" Dean said, his eyes going wide. "How long do I have?"

"You were probably infected when I was, so you've got about four days until the creature eats its way out of you." Dean grimaced, closing his eyes, but his brother wasn't done yet. "However Bobby and I are worried about how much weight you've lost. We're not sure you'll last even that long."

"Yeah, what the hell's up with that?" Dean asked, his eyes raking again over his skeletal chest, which was shaking as Dean started to shiver. "You had two of these things in you, and they just made you fat. Why do I look like a poster child for starving kids in Africa?"

"We're not sure, but Bobby and I think that the overeating is a normal side effect of the parasites. They take up residence and, as they start to grow, they suck so much energy from the host body that the host ends up eating non-stop just to keep from consuming its own muscles."

"Which is why you ate your way through the last week," Dean smirked, and Sam nodded.

"Yup. I was feeding the parasites." Sam paused for a moment, seemingly choosing his words before plowing ahead. "But something didn't go right with you."

Dean snorted. "No shit."

"It's like your body has been trying to reject the parasite, but the baby's too strong, and it isn't going anywhere. So you've been nauseous and tired, and your body hasn't been getting the energy needed to sustain the parasite...or yourself. So both you and the parasite are taking what you need from your body. You would've run through your fat stores first, and then you'd start consuming muscle."

"Which is how I ended up the incredible shrinking man, I get it," Dean said. He tried to raise an arm to he could rub one hand over his face, but the shivering turned abruptly violent, and it was all Dean could to do speak.

"Can I get some blankets here, Sam?" he asked, his voice wavering as he shook. Sam had already seen the problem, though, and was ready with a heavy afghan.

"That's another side effect," he said, draping the heavy cover over Dean's shaking form. "You've probably been cold a lot lately – you've lost so much weight you're probably having trouble keeping your body temperature stable."

"Or you've got the A/C turned up," Dean grumbled, but Sam shook his head.

"Dude, it's 80 in here."

Dean almost started to argue, but he calmed when he looked at his brother and noticed the light t-shirt Sam was wearing. "So," he said finally. "What do we do?"

Sam pressed his lips together, but he didn't say anything, and Dean glared at his brother.

"Don't gimme that, Sam. Tell me what the plan is."

Sam sighed. "Bobby's gone off to get a friend of his. He's...a surgeon."

Dean just stared at his brother for a long moment as the pieces fit together in his mind.

"You're going to cut it out of me?" he finally asked, and Sam nodded.

"That seems to be our only option right now, and we have to do it now, before you get any weaker."

Dean thought for a second, then, much to his brother's amazement, shrugged.

"Sounds good."

* * *

><p>Dean was being remarkably calm about all this. Too calm, in fact, and it was worrying Sam. Bobby got back with the surgeon and a trusted nurse not long after Dean woke up, and the man started taking Dean's vitals immediately.<p>

"How much does he weigh?" the doctor asked after he'd listened to Dean's chest. Unfortunately, the question started off a game of glance hockey as none of the three men knew how to answer the doctor's question.

"Well?" the doctor said testily - it was bad enough he was going to have to operate in what was, frankly, a sty, but he was not opening someone up when he didn't even have basic information on them, even for an old friend like Bobby.

"We're not trying to keep things from you, doctor," Sam said, glancing nervously between the doctor's gaze and his brother's. "He's just lost a lot of weight in the past few days, so we don't really know what he weighs."

"I'd really like a ballpark number so I can calculate the anesthesia," the doctor said, and Sam glanced at Bobby, who nodded.

"I'll go get my scale."

When Bobby showed up with the scale, Dean tried to stand and get on it himself, but he wasn't even strong enough to lever himself into a sitting position. So, a few minutes and a lot of maneuvering later, Sam stepped onto the scale while carrying his brother, then again alone. After some quick mental arithmetic, Sam said, "140."

"Is that how much I weigh?" Dean asked, his eyes wide. "What the hell?"

"What did you expect it to be?" the doctor asked absently as he felt Dean's swollen abdomen.

"Well I knew it would be low, but not THAT low. Not fifty pounds low."

The doctor's eyes narrowed and he tossed a sharp glare in Dean's direction. "I thought this had only been going on for two weeks," he snapped, and Dean nodded.

"It has."

The doctor exchanged a glance with his wide-eyed nurse, then nodded. "Then we DO need to get this thing out. Now."

The doctor grabbed Sam by the arm and dragged him away to help him and the nurse create a nearly sterile operating room, leaving Bobby to sit next to Dean.

"So, you trust this guy?" Dean asked the older man, his eyes asking the more important question: is he going to freak out?

Bobby smiled slightly. "He'll be fine. 'Bout ten years ago he had a run-in with some vampires, a nest I cleaned out. After that, I started coming to him with the occasional problem." Bobby shrugged. "He's seen a lot, and he doesn't ask questions - smart enough to know he doesn't want the answers."

"Damn straight," the doctor said as he walked over and pulled up a chair next to Bobby's. "I don't have the faintest clue what's inside there," he said, gesturing at Dean's stomach. "It feels like a normal fetus, but I'm guessing it's not." Dean shook his head, and the doctor nodded. "Didn't think so. So, what I'm going to do-" The doctor stopped suddenly as Dean held up a hand.

"You know how there are some things you don't wanna know," Dean said, and the doctor nodded again. "Yeah, well I don't wanna know this. Take it out and sew me back up, doc, that's all I ask."

"You know this is risky, son," the doctor said kindly, his harsh bedside manner suddenly softening. "You could die."

"Trust me, doc," Dean replied, closing his eyes. "It's not near as risky as leaving it in."


	6. What Would You Do Without Me?

Chapter 6: What Would You Do Without Me?

It took a while, but six hours later the doctor pulled a mass of...something out of the man's abdominal cavity. He dumped it in the kidney dish the nurse held out, then set about stopping the blood flow from where the parasite had attached itself...by its mouth, disgustingly enough. A short time later, he and his most unflappable nurse had finished closing up the man on the table. He breathed a sigh of relief, glanced at the monitors, where the patient's vitals were still strong, and turned to leave the sterile room, stripping out of his bloody gloves as he did.

Bobby and his young friend, the man's brother, were sitting anxiously in the living room, nearly identical expressions of worry on their faces. The doctor was always glad to talk to families in this situation - it was nice to alleviate their worry.

"It went well," he said, and the two men looked at each other and breathed sighs of relief. "Obviously we should watch him for a while - infection is always possible, especially without a real operating room, and with the amount of weight he's lost, he's going to be particularly weak for a while."

"Don't worry, doctor," the younger man said. "We'll take care of him."

He smiled. "I'm sure you will, son, but I'm going to want to stick around for a few hours, and I'll leave my nurse here for a few days longer, just to be sure."

Bobby and the young man exchanged a worried glance, but after a moment the older man cleared this throat.

"Um, sure, doc," he said. "We can just-"

"Doctor!" a worried voice called from the operating area. "Doctor, we have a problem!"

The doctor spun on his heel and headed back to the sterile area, the two hunters following close behind.

"What?" the doctor snapped, going straight to his patient...who seemed fine. The monitors were all still showing normal vitals, the man's color looked no worse than it had, and nothing appeared to be bleeding.

"It's the...thing," the nurse said, and the doctor turned towards her, his gaze running along her pointed finger to the small table at the end of it. The small table that held an empty kidney dish.

"It's gone," the nurse said, quickly followed by a string of curses from just outside the sterile room.

"Sam, you check the living room, I'll check in here. Doc," Bobby said, glancing up at him from outside the curtain of plastic. "Is it okay if I get in there? We need to find this thing, fast."

"Okay," the doctor said. "Just stay away from the patient."

Bobby nodded and pushed aside the plastic, his eyes darting around the room and an enormous knife in one hand. The doctor knew better than to interrupt the man while he was doing...whatever it was he did, and he shot a warning glance at his nurse who, thankfully, nodded once and kept still.

Slowly Bobby crept around the sterile area, looking under the long table that still held the patient, under the crash cart and other assorted medical devices, and the smaller table being used to hold surgical implements. Eventually he straightened up and was about to say something when a shout from the direction of the living room froze him in his tracks.

"Bobby!" the younger man called. "It's in here!"

Bobby streaked out of the room, leaving the doctor and the nurse to glance at each other before deciding to follow, but much more slowly and cautiously.

Sounds of a struggle greeted them when they made it to the living room, and the doctor watched, wide-eyed, as Bobby and the young man chased a small, but extremely fast shape around the living room, lunging at it with wicked-looking knives bared.

Suddenly the shape shot towards the doctor and the nurse, who both dove out of the way, making way for both whatever the thing was and Bobby and the young man. The three of them streaked out of the living room back in the direction of the sterile room, and the doctor scrambled to his feet, his thoughts turning immediately to his patient. All he needed was for that thing to infect the poor man with God-knows-what.

The doctor raced back to the sterile room, just in time to see the thing leap onto the table with his patient...and the man to jerk awake and, producing yet another enormous knife from who-knows-where, stab viciously down at the nasty-looking thing, the knife going clear through the thing's skull to pin it, twitching, to the table.

The man grinned at the other two hunters. "How would you ever make it without me?" he said, then he flopped back onto his back and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later the boys were finally ready to leave. Sam was fine, in perfect hunting shape and raring to go. Dean...well, it would take a little while longer before Dean was back to his old self, but at least the grey had gone from his skin and he didn't look like he would fall over in a strong breeze anymore.<p>

Bobby had tried to get them to stay a bit longer, to train for a while in a place that, while maybe not perfectly safe, was at least better than bein' back out on the road actively hunting.

But, of course, his offer had been politely, but firmly, turned down. Bobby understood -those boys belonged on the road, and they all knew it.

"Thanks again, Bobby," Dean said, shaking his hand. "We couldn't have done it without you."

"Damn straight," Bobby replied as Sam came out of the house with the last of their stuff. "Honestly, you two boys get into more trouble than any six other hunters."

"It's my fault," Dean said, and Bobby raised an eyebrow. "I'm so sexy not even the demons can stay away."

Bobby snorted, and Sam tossed a punch at his brother, which was deftly avoided.

"Oh it's your fault, alright," Sam said. "You and your damn mouth. You can't keep it shut, and it's constantly landing us in trouble."

Dean grinned. "True, but not with demons."

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. "Right. Bye, Bobby," he said, and he headed off the porch toward the car.

"Yup," Dean echoed, following his brother. "See you later, Bobby!"

Bobby watched as Dean crooned over the Impala for a moment and Sam tossed the bags in the back seat, then the Winchester boys slid into the car (in unison, of course - it was kind of creepy) and took off, a cloud of dust drifting behind them.

Shaking his head, Bobby walked back into the house. He loved those boys, but it was hard to be sorry when they left - with all the problems they had, the Winchester brothers would be back to see him soon enough.


End file.
